By Shireen Mukadam
I had a dream. I was lying on the grass of the Boston Commons surrounded by
three new friends. A Jordanian-Syrian, studying in Australia. A Catalonian
Spaniard working in Colombia. And Marube from Kenya — a 52-year-old, who has
aspirations of resuming his law degree, which he commenced at 26 in 1986 and
then a year later was imprisoned by Daniel arap Moi’s authoritarian regime for
six years.
We had met not even five days earlier. It was the day after a mind-blowing
shared experience of the Fletcher Summer Institute for the Advanced Study of
Nonviolent Conflict, hosted by the International Centre on Nonviolent Conflict.
We were all bound by our common humanity. Differences don’t necessarily mean
divisions. Dialogue is possible. Tolerance is possible. Understanding is
possible. And if all of these are possible, then peace is possible.
The week was spent learning about the history of nonviolent conflict, major
concepts of nonviolent conflict including planning, strategising, coalition
building, backfire, the role of the media and transitions. (For access to the
presentations click here). The course drew on recent case studies of nonviolent
movements from around the globe including the Orange Revolution in Ukraine, the
power of Otpor in Serbia, the civil resistance movement in the US as well as
South Africa’s transition from Apartheid to Democracy.
The South African case of course grabbed my attention. Throughout the course
South Africa was referred to as a success story. An exemplar of nonviolent
conflict, of how a civil resistance movement successfully achieved its
objectives.
While I have enormous respect for this view, and do agree that yes it is
formidable accomplishment that our country succeeded to formally transition
relatively peacefully from a state of apartheid to democracy, I am wary of
showcasing this beyond what it is.
The transition to democracy was a political transition. And a formal
political transition, as we know, does not necessarily or automatically
translate into the transformation of society on deeper levels, economic, social
and psychological.
I am a child of the transition. I was born one year after the United
Democratic Front was created in 1983, I moved schools to what was known as a
“model C” school (previously white only) in January 1993 which also coincided
with my family’s move away from Newfields located next to Hanover Park and
Manenberg (areas to which nonwhites were relocated to following the Group Areas
Act, and which now have the highest incidences of crime, gang-related violence
and drug abuse in the Cape Flats) to University Estate (previously reserved for
whites only).
My earliest memory of politics is the euphoria surrounding Nelson Mandela
and accompanying my parents to the voting station to cast their first votes in
March 1994. I was nine years old.
Today, 18 years later I look at my country, its people, leaders and I am
filled with a mixture of pride, patriotism (my beaded South African flag
travels with me, wherever I may go in this world, pinned to my favorite denim
jacket), affinity and admiration, but also a deep sense of regret, anger,
sorrow and concern: for the potential that remains.
Our domestic worker Julia who is now in her 50s travels two hours every day
to get to work. To make the journey, she has to wake up before dawn, prepare
her children and drop them off at a friend who will see to it that they get to
school, then take a combination of a taxi and a train, before walking about 1km
to reach her job. Her bread and butter. She repeats this routine on the way
home in the late afternoon, and then visits various homes in the city each day
of the week, five or six days a week.
Her children receive a gutter education. Arguably a similar education she
would have had access to when she was a teenager in the 1970s at the height of
the apartheid era. Although access to quality education is no long restricted
according to race, today you can buy access to quality education. I would argue
that the lines of discrimination have shifted, from race to economic wealth.
Discrimination has been perpetuated, just this time it’s not race that holds
the trump card.
Julia lives in in Philippi, a township of approximately 150 000 people.
In her home, she does not have access to electricity nor does she have running
water or her own toilet to use. She makes just enough money to sustain this
cycle, and this is probably how it will continue until the end of her days.
A fatalistic view, some would argue. But it is reality. And this is the
reality of many hundreds of thousands of South Africans today, 18 years later.
At least she has a job, others would say.
But is this really freedom?
I would argue no.
We have a collective responsibility to contribute to creating a South Africa
in which each woman, man and child is truly free. As Nelson Mandela, our
democratic nation’s forefather said: “For to be free is not merely to cast off
one’s chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of
others.”
Cartoon by Nathan Mpangala
Shireen Mukadam is passionate about South Africa, human rights, chai lattés and peacebuilding.
Shireen Mukadam is passionate about South Africa, human rights, chai lattés and peacebuilding.
Source: http://www.thoughtleader.co.za/readerblog/2012/07/18/a-madiba-child/
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